


Pruning

by Artikka



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Force Shenanigans, Gen, Half Force Anakin Skywalker, Hurt Anakin Skywalker, Protective CT-7567 | Rex, That's Not How The Force Works, Whump, eh whatever, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artikka/pseuds/Artikka
Summary: The General seems to know what he’s going to ask anyways, because his lips quirk humorlessly, “—t’s different if I’m the one doing the killing.”Rex suddenly knows he’s not going to like the rest of that answer.“The Force seems to think—” another shallow breath, the edge of the General’s mouth blackening and beginning to bleed, “it’s pruning.”* * * *Or, Rex, Anakin, a battlefield, and one way that being 'half-force' could affect a person.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 52
Kudos: 433
Collections: New SW Canon Server Works





	Pruning

**Author's Note:**

> in a contrast to my last fic, have an Anakin-is-actually-a-child-of-the-force fic!

It’s an somewhat bloody campaign when it happens.

There’s nothing particularly different about the day, or campaign, or battle; they all tend to blend together after the three years that the war has been going on. The General had confessed to him, once, that he didn’t even count the battles anymore, just organized them in his head as “before the Commander’s departure” and “after the Commander’s departure,” which Rex can definitely understand. Commander Tano had made the battles seem easier, somehow. Lighter. Less miserable.

The planet they’re fighting on isn’t particularly different from the usual either (warm climate, plenty of cover, dusty), except for one thing. 

The Force presence.

“The Force here, Obi-wan,” he had heard the General say before the fighting had started, “it’s strange. Do you feel it?”

General Kenobi had clenched his jaw and nodded, apprehensive but resigned all the same. “We don’t have a choice,” he’d said, “this battle is crucial.” 

The two had exchanged one of those unreadable Jedi glances, then General Skywalker set off to brief the rest of them. Rex. . . well, Rex had pushed the conversation to the back of his mind and focused on the fighting ahead. It was _General Skywalker_ , after all. When did he ever _not_ manage to pull through?

Now he wishes he’d shared his General’s apprehension.

The fighting had been typical (droids, droidekas, spider droids, and the like). But then the bombs had gone off. Taken with them maybe hundreds of brothers. 

And the General, leading the charge and nowhere near the bombs, had collapsed.

He’s dragging Skywalker to safety now, with a team of clones. He hasn’t had a chance to look at him yet, but the stillness is worrying. Fives and Jesse are helping get him clear.

“What happened?” Fives asks, grunting from underneath the dead weight. 

“Don’t know yet,” Rex grits out, “we have to call a retreat, _now._ ”

They lay Skywalker down, propping him against a rock. His eyes are open, but they’re glassy and unfocused. He’s letting out pained moans that Rex _knows_ he’d never let slip out if he was in his right mind. The three of them finally take a look at him and—

Fives retches.

“What,” he says, “ _what_ the hell?”

The General looks. . . like he’s rotting, almost. His skin is waxen, the veins crisscrossing under his skin suddenly thrown into sharp relief. And, worse. . . the edges of his mouth are _blackening_. Bits and pieces of skin look like they might be crumbling, to be honest. 

Rex wants to retch, too.

They don’t have time for that.

“Jesse!” he barks out, “Jesse, get a medic, _now._ ” 

“What’s happening to him?” Fives says hoarsely.

“Don’t know,” Rex responds, “I don’t know. I’ll stay with him. Fives, get the men out of here and make sure we get that medic!”

Fives nods, still staring, and rushes off.

“General,” Rex says once they’re alone, shaking Skywalker lightly. His head lolls to the side and blood dribbles out of his nose at a steady pace. “General, I need you to talk to me.”

Seconds pass. He gets no response. Then minutes. Still, no response. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Skywalker’s eyes manage to focus on him. “. . . Rex?” 

“General.” Rex doesn’t even try to hide his relief. He’s no medic, but he’s pretty sure that letting Skywalker pass out is a terrible idea. “What happened?”

Skywalker’s head lolls to the side again. His brow furrows. After some time, he answers, “—t’s the planet.” 

His eyes go glazed again, but whether from the pain or from something else, Rex isn’t sure. A horrifying thought occurs to him, then. It definitely _looks_ like the General is rotting on the outside. Is he rotting on the _inside_ too?

Rex wants to retch again. Maybe he should have gotten it out of the way in the beginning, like Fives did.

By sheer force of will, the General somehow manages to keep talking.

“—did something,” he rasps, “something to my shields. I’ll—” there’s another wet gasp, “be fine.”

Rex almost laughs. Of course Skywalker says that. Of _course_ he does. Classic Skywalker, rotting inside out from some kind of spontaneous force event and then insisting _he’s fine._

“All due respect, General,” Rex says, “shut up.”

Now Rex _knows_ for sure that the General sure as hell isn’t fine, because he doesn’t respond with any sort of quip or change in facial expression. His eyes—it’s like the color is _leaching out of them, how the hell is he supposed to make sure Skywalker survives this?_

_Why the hell,_ Rex thinks for what’s probably the first time in his life, _didn’t I become a medic?_

No—no, he shouldn’t tell the General to shut up, he should keep him talking, that should help, right? Keeping him conscious?

“General,” he says, “do you have any idea what’s happening to you? What caused this?”

“The planet,” Skywalker says again, “shot my shields—can feel all the deaths, the force doesn’t like it. . .” he trails off, a whimper escaping from his mouth.

What? Had this. . . no, Rex has _never_ heard of this happening to any other Jedi. They’d have some reports of it, wouldn’t they, if without force-whatever-shields the Jedi would crumble to pieces? This is unprecedented. This seems, well, distinctly General Skywalker. General Skywalker, who’s always been stronger, more powerful, then the other Jedi, who’s drawn on the force with the ease of breathing while for the others it always took longer.

Rex had always thought that was a blessing, not a curse.

Despite all the men that Skywalker’s been able to save because of his power, the casualties he’s prevented, part of him wishes, seeing his General now, that Skywalker had been born with a little less of that incomprehensible power.

“This could happen to any Jedi?” he asks once he realizes how long he’s been silent. He nudges the General, trying to keep him awake.

“. . . no.” General Skywalker says eventually, face even sallower and bones jutting out more prominently than they had been a couple minutes ago. “—just me.”

“What? Why?”

“Other Jedi have. . . a father,” Skywalker says, with a laugh that quickly turns into a coughing fit—he’s coughing up _blood_ now, they needed the medic here _yesterday_ — “I just have the force.”

Rex splutters. “ _You’re half force?”_ Right. Right, that’s absurd. That’s ridiculous. 

That’s. . . probably the only explanation he’s going to get for why his General is _literally_ falling apart right now.

“Usually—have shields to stop this—”

Another thing pops into his mind unexpectedly. If death affected General Skywalker like this, then how in the galaxy was he _leading_ a battalion in a war? How in the galaxy did he _kill?_

He opens his mouth to ask him—sure, it’s insensitive, but he has to keep Skywalker talking to keep him awake—but he has no idea where to begin.

The General seems to know what he’s going to ask anyways, because his lips quirk humorlessly, “—t’s different if _I’m_ the one doing the killing.”

Rex suddenly knows he’s not going to like the rest of that answer.

“The Force seems to think—” another shallow breath, the edge of the General’s mouth blackening and beginning to bleed, “it’s pruning.” 

It’s funny how Rex had managed to keep himself from vomiting at the General’s appearance, but the words he says end up making him vomit anyways. _Killing_ people? _Pruning?_ He looks up, wiping spittle from his mouth, about to apologize, before seeing that Skywalker’s eyes are closing. Even more alarming, his face is almost covered in blood now, dribbling out of his nose, the corners of his mouth, his _eyes._

Rex shoots to his feet, dragging Skywalker up with him. The retreat was successful, brothers are milling around him, so where are Fives and Jesse? Where is the 212th? Where is General Kenobi?

“Where is that _damn medic?_ ” he shouts at the brothers around him. “And someone get General Kenobi here, we need a Jedi! We need a Jedi here, _now_!”

There’s a rush as the troopers scramble to follow his orders, most of them catching one glimpse of their General and going pale with sudden alarm. Rex, for his part, starts dragging the General to the medic’s tent himself; he _knows_ the battle was bloody, he _knows_ there are a lot of brothers to see to, but their General could be dying _right now_ and without medical attention, without a _Jedi_ , he has no chance. 

He finally spots an evac approaching them; Kix is there, manning it, and _oh_ , _t_ _hank the force_ , Kenobi’s with him and approaching quickly. 

“What happened?” General Kenobi asks as he rushes over, grabbing Skywalker’s other side and helping to lay him on the stretcher. His tone is harried and spiked with alarm, a far cry from the reserved, professional tone Kenobi sets aside for the battlefields.

“The bombs.” Rex says. Skywalker isn’t responding at _all_ anymore, eyes vacant and breathing uneven. General Kenobi needs to do something, _now_. “He wasn’t close to the bombs, but they took out at least a hundred of us and he just collapsed. He said something about shields and the force, General. Can you help him or not?”

The blood drains out of General Kenobi’s face so quickly Rex wouldn’t have thought it possible.

  
“ _Anakin_.” he says, then to Kix, “Try to stop the bleeding. There’s not much else you’ll be able to do.”

There’s a “yes, sir” and General Kenobi takes Skywalker’s hands in his, closing his eyes and sinking into some sort of meditation, Kix mopping up the blood in the meantime. There’s a long moment where it seems nothing is happening, but, at last, General Skywalker’s face regains some color, the rotting stops, and his breathing evens out. 

General Kenobi gives a rare smile of pure relief, then stumbles back and collapses.

“General!”

“I’ll—be fine,” General Kenobi says, breathing hard, “just tired.”

If Rex had a credit for every time that day a General had told him he was fine when he so clearly wasn’t, he’d have two credits. Which isn’t a lot, but, still, it’s strange that it had happened twice.

Luckily for them, General Kenobi doesn’t seem to be rotting from the inside out, and it’s only exhaustion they need to worry about for him. “We’ll need to get him to the Temple as soon as possible,” he says as they help him up, “there’s not much more I can do for him now.”

“Will he be—”

“He should be fine.” Kenobi snaps, then, “I’m sorry, Captain. Yes, Anakin should recover. But he needs to be at the Temple, and I don’t believe he’ll be fit for active duty for another week at least.”

Rex breathes a sigh of relief. For some time there, he had almost believed this would finally be the thing to do his General in. But it looks like he’d been right from the beginning. This is _General Skywalker_. He can survive anything.

Not, in the least, because he’s some sort of half-force Chosen One.

_Pruning._

Yeah. 

  
Rex _really_ doesn’t want to think about that.


End file.
